


Red-Orange-Yellow Outside My Window

by PhoenyxStar



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Autumn, Fluff, Halloween, Hogwarts Eighth Year, I really can't, I'm feeling like shit so yay, Much more plot than I'm comfy with but oh well, Seven Days Til Halloween, There's probably going to be a lot of fluff, This is me releasing pent up anger, enjoy this, hopelessness, i might forget to post on the 25, so im posting it today, switching POV
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:55:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27165559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenyxStar/pseuds/PhoenyxStar
Summary: In the week leading up to Halloween, Draco's life changes.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 13
Kudos: 7





	1. (Draco) After the War

**Author's Note:**

> I've scrapped this about a million times, but here you go. I'm putting it out there. Please correct all mistakes in the comments, please criticise this, please tell me what you think.

  * Draco’s POV (October 25, 1998)



Life is calm. It’s as calm as the red-orange-yellow floating from the trees outside the caged window. _I am calm._

The war ended rather abruptly, and the Wizarding World was quick to celebrate. It’s been 176 days since our _Great Savior_ killed the Dark Lord. I’m not sure what they did to _his_ body, but they put _my_ body in this poor excuse of a holding cell. For 169 days, I have waited and waited and pondered and vomited and meditated and cried and seethed and laughed and ate and excreted and lost _absolutely_ all sense of dignity. I have spent one hundred and sixty-nine days being ridiculed by the great and noble Aurors that run patrol by my cell. Over a hundred days of my soul being broken into all these little pieces. 

My mind, however, has been absolutely lovely. I’ve had a lot of time to contemplate my existence. I had also decided that talking back to the _terrific_ Aurors is pointless. I believe I haven’t spoken for a month or so now. It’s bliss to know that the rascals locking me up can take a hint and shut up. It’s something I should have learned to do a while ago, really. I was already an excellent Occlumens, but my solitude has deepened my connection with my mind. It’s a delightful development I’ve gotten merely from having no communication with the _outside_ world.

In all the time that I’ve been here after the war, I’ve only received a single letter. It was from the Ministry informing me that my father had offered information about the Death Eaters to evade Azkaban. How Slytherin. He ended up in Azkaban anyway, because they found remnants of the Dark Lord’s things all around the Manor. How could we have removed _his_ trace if we couldn’t return to the Manor to dispose of it all? We were contained almost immediately. I had asked for information about my mother, but the only response I got was laughter and spit to the face. 

Today didn’t seem any different, I had woken up around midday with creaks and aches all over my body. But rather than a lopsided tray with spilt food next to it, it was neatly placed by the door with a few rolls of parchment. Deciding I wasn’t hungry, I read the letters. The first was from Pansy, which she had written in April. She must have been hysterical to find that I hadn’t replied. Seeing as I’ve just received it, I couldn’t have. I hope she forgives me. I snort out loud at the thought of _hope_.

Instantly a head pops into view in the window on the door and the Auror squints, “Oy, you causing trouble Malfoy?” 

I shake my head. Does the DMLE have someone guarding me? Really now, I’m only an eighteen-year-old boy. As the Auror leaves the window -- and surprisingly, he doesn’t gloat-- I skim through Pansy’s letter. It’s quite a letter, equipped with rambles, angrily written parts, and some with tear stains. Apparently, Pansy’s trial was within a week of her containment and Potter had spoken in her favour. In fact, he had spoken for all the Slytherins who were children of Death Eaters. Not all, obviously, because I’m still wasting away in here. I wonder how Vincent’s parents fared… since they didn’t have a child for Potter to defend, of course. Thinking about the war and my fellow Slytherins weighs down on my soul. I’d rather not damage it more than it already is.

I pick up the second letter. It’s signed by Potter and the six slips of parchment were written by month; one slip for each month. I throw my hands up because I could’ve corresponded with someone during my isolation! Then again, I wouldn’t have this impeccable connection with my mind if I became _pen-pals_ with Potter. Each letter gets more worried or desperate for a response. Most of the letters were quite aggressive because he thought I was purposely ignoring him. If I was, I would’ve simply sent them back unopened, but the real question is: why does Potter even care? It must be his Saviour Complex, his _need_ to help all the poor, unfortunate souls that were under the Dead, sorry, Dark Lord. 

~

_May 12, 1998_

_Malfoy, where are you? Your parents contacted me a few days ago to help your family escape a sentence. When the trial started yesterday, you weren’t there, and I could only speak for your parents. Speaking of your parents, they refuse to tell me where you are._

_Owl me as soon as you can,_

_H.P._

_~_

_June 5, 1998_

_Happy birthday Malfoy, you sodding pain-in-the-arse. Your father is in Azkaban. I’m sorry, I guess._ ~~_I didn’t try very hard to speak in favour of him._~~ _Your mother has been staying at the Burrow, helping Molly out in the kitchen and such. The Ministry has removed your mother from the wards and the Manor’s being investigated. Since you’re still alive (where the fuck are you Malfoy?), the Manor is still bound to your magic (or your fathers?) and Ministry can’t safely revoke it from you. You’re bloody welcome for the update. Now owl me back you arsehole._

_Fucking owl me,_

_H.P._

_~_

_July 30, 1998_

_Your mother finally admitted that she didn’t actually know where you are. What is wrong with you Slytherins? And what the actual fuck Malfoy? Where are you? I’m going to report you as missing if you keep this up. Stop being a damn coward and stop hiding._ _Your mother ~~probably~~ misses you, I can’t tell for sure ~~, she barely shows any emotion~~. _

_Owl me, show up at Grimmauld, whatever, but stop hiding Malfoy,_

_H.P._

_~_

_August 23, 1998_

_Malfoy. Where the bloody hell are you? Are you coming back for 8th year? Is that when? When are you going to fucking show up? You still need to be put on trial._

_H.P._

_~_

_September 1, 1998_

_You know, your mother broke down in the middle of King’s Cross when we didn’t see you. I don’t think I’ve seen_ anyone _cry that much. Look at what you’re doing you damned git. Owl me. Are you with Muggles?_ ~~_I’ve got a mobile_~~ _ ~~.~~ Just. Contact me please Malfoy. Our missing wizard report got denied, so they didn’t send out a search team. That’s fucking messed up. They didn’t even give us a reason for why they’re not searching for you. We’ve put a missing ad in the paper. Show up, will you? _

_H.P._

_~_

_October 25, 1998_

_I can’t fucking believe the Ministry was holding you until they completed the search of Malfoy Manor. I’ll visit you as soon as I can. They’d better be treating you well or I’ll fucking kill them._ _~~Narcissa~~ _ _Your mother was taken to a Muggle hospital after a panic attack (It might have been a heart attack. I wasn’t really paying attention). It was the closest hospital we could get to and they were able to control it. She’s been bedridden ever since. She was already fretting over you every day, and now it’s worse. I promise everything will be alright Malfoy. Just hold on._

_H.P._

_~_

After I finish thoroughly reading all of Potter’s letters I start laughing. I can’t quite remember much after that, but I do remember laughing madly until I was reduced to tears. I remember " _I promise everything will be alright Malfoy._ ” I remember black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Help. What am I doing?


	2. (Harry) Take a Breath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry is the Gryffindor he always has been. Why though?

  * Harry’s POV (October 26, 1998)



Ron suggested I visit Draco with backup, so here I am, walking under the Cloak to the Slytherin dungeons. Hermione had laughed and Ron had sputtered when I told them I was going with Pansy. I suppose Ron wanted to be my backup, but it would be easier if I went with someone Malfoy trusted. 

~ A week after I finished speaking at the trials, Pansy approached me with a long list of things. Some of it was apologies she’d gathered from her housemates, some were accusations of me being suspicious or “up to something,” and the very last thing was about how worried she was about Malfoy (and how it was so unlike him to not respond). We’d become acquaintances when I arranged for Narcissa to stay with the Weasleys and it mostly went up from there. Pansy’s a formidable force to reckon with and quite irresistible when she needs something (as most Slytherins can be). We became friends during the panicked search for Malfoy and bonded over the struggle with the Ministry. _I_ was shocked the Ministry hadn’t delivered any of my letters to Malfoy, and the _Ministry_ was shocked to find that I cared about his well-being. Did they think that I would speak for all my accused classmates and not notice one of them was missing? Honestly, what dumb blokes contain an eighteen-year-old for five months over some property. How long does it take to search a property anyway? ~

I walk up to the ordinary stone wall that Pansy had indicated was the way into the dungeons. She’d also said that since I’m an expected guest, the spell would let me in. Shuddering at the memory of what the dungeons were like, I can’t fathom why Pansy would want to stay in them. During the rebuild over the summer, there had been another dormitory added into the mismatch of buildings that is Hogwarts; the new one is purple-themed, for house-unity and such. Pansy even helped in the restoration and the additional buildings. Maybe she just wanted the extra community hours.

I whisper “ _vos non sunt malum_ ” to the wall and watch it transform into a slimy, musty, and dark passageway. Frowning, I take a tentative step into the tight passage and hold my breath because it _stinks_ and it’s _small_. I get a little anxious and shut my eyes immediately. After some research with Hermione and talking about my childhood, she sent me off to Madame Pomfrey (who survived the war, thank Merlin) to get some potions. I hadn’t taken my potions before bed, and am slowly regretting coming here, but I remind myself it’s for Narcissa. I take another step and the air whooshes out of me because the passage has completely transformed into a grand hall of luxury, lit by huge _chandeliers_ hanging from the much higher ceiling. Magic still astounds me. 

Shaking out of my awe, I stride across the room to the largest door and slowly open the doors (which are greased and silent, I should’ve guessed). My lucky guess, I suppose, because it is the common room. It’s a bit more modest than the entrance hall, with a variety of furniture scattered around the room (fancy loveseats, desks, floating bean bags, clothing racks). As I slip off the Cloak, I take in the most prominent feature: glass ceilings and glass walls. Glancing over my shoulder, I let loose a relieved breath as I see that the solid wall/door I came through is still there. 

“Like what you see?” comes from the corner, where Pansy sits up from a dark green fainting couch. 

“Yeah. Last time I was here it wasn’t very appealing,” I said, waving awkwardly at the mermaids looking in. They start moving their hands elaborately and I look at Pansy for help. She waves at them and starts moving her hands at them… in sign language? She turns back to me and shrugs before she starts talking.

“Well, Salazar’s magic would’ve repelled you since you probably weren’t welcome. You must tell me this story next; oh, Harry Potter’s school adventure number 1000: sneaking into the Slytherin dungeons. _Oh-ho!_ The mermaids think you’re a half-wit for not knowing sign language. Anyway, we changed it up during the reconstruction and added that misleadingly splendid hall to make up for the messy rooms. We couldn’t stand to get rid of the furniture, they are still functioning and centuries-old; all this furniture has become sentimental tokens, I suppose. You know, us Slytherins and our tendency to think everything we own is a treasure,” finishes Pansy with a wave of her hand. She stands and her voice trembles as she says, “Well, we can’t keep Draco waiting, can we? Let’s go.” 

Biting back the joke on the tip of my tongue, I nod solemnly and turn to the door. Before we walk out of the Slytherin entrance hall, I throw the Cloak over us. We briskly walk outside the gates and then Pansy wraps the Cloak tighter around us as I apparate us to the Ministry entrance. 

“Ugh! This whole world of magic and they had to use toilets,” mutters Pansy. I elbow her and she clamps her mouth shut, reaching into someone’s pocket and pulling out an employee Ministry coin. As the employee turns to catch the pickpocket, Pansy and I rush to enter a vacant stall. She frowns and gestures for me to go first, ducking out of the Cloak.

“I must be a gentleman Pansy, ladies first,” I murmur, winking at her disgusted face before pulling the Cloak’s hood back on and flushing myself into the Ministry. Stumbling to the side of the fireplace, I throw the Cloak over Pansy the moment I see her emerge. It’s a good thing it’s the middle of the night because there’s hardly anyone in the Atrium.

Her face is pinched and I have to turn away to avoid laughing. “It’s just magic, Pansy. You know better than me that no one actually uses them.” In response, she just pulls us over to the lifts. Even after renovations, the lifts still rattle, but they seem safer than before. Someone’s already requested level 2 and we hasten to follow them as they leave the lift. 

Pansy suddenly starts, so I stop too. She pulls us aside and whispers frantically, “This place is enormous. Do you even know where he is?” 

“What’s that spell? The one that shows you someone’s magic traces. I can’t remember what,” I stop short when I see Pansy’s face light up. 

“No, Draco’s been locked up too long to have recent traces. There aren’t that many people in the building right?” She murmurs, “ _Homenum Revelio._ If Draco’s not on this level we’ll have to come back another night.” After some squinting, she grabs my arm and we go. 

Pansy and I stand in front of an iron door where a key is conveniently hanging next to it. We exchange a look: would the Aurors really just leave the key there? I reach for it and Pansy bats my hand away, rolling her eyes. She casts a nonverbal levitation spell and wraps her magic around the key. With a ridiculously talented flick of her wand, Pansy unlocks the door without even touching the key. Glancing left and right, Pansy uses the Cloak to take the key as we slip inside. 

Malfoy is already sitting upright, tense and squinting through the dark. 

“Potter?” he says, voice rough. Pansy sniffs and pulls the Invisibility Cloak off both of us. 

“ _Lumos_ ,” she says steadily, and then after looking at Malfoy’s plump face and unwrinkled clothes, she snorts. Even Malfoy is looking around in wonder. Almost like she was hoping nothing would happen, she whispers, “ _Finite Incantatem._ ” 

Not only do Malfoy’s features change, but the whole cell does too. The furniture disappears and cracks appear in the wall. There’s a mess of vomit and food stains that were hidden by a Disillusionment Charm. And Malfoy. He becomes so thin and he looks so… unhealthy. His clothes are the same as the Last Battle and they’re _dirty_. What?

“Pansy. This can’t just be a visit. We need to-” I say, tearing my eyes away from him.

“I know,” she grits out, interrupting me, her eyes never leave Malfoy. “Draco. What did your father do? What’s in the Manor? Why are you-”

She stops herself when Malfoy covers his ears and shuts his eyes. His loose sleeve falls and shows the demolished shape of the Dark Mark. I hear Pansy’s sharp intake of breath and watch her look away. Malfoy immediately drops his hands and pulls the sleeve down.

“It’s my own fault. Take the Cloak and wait outside,” Malfoy says hoarsely to Pansy. Pansy and I turn to each other confused. We expected him to send _me_ away. “Please, Pansy,” he says at her hesitation. I don’t think I’ve ever heard Malfoy genuinely use the word “please.” Pansy sighs and pulls the Cloak on and slinks outside. 

The moment the door clicks shut, Malfoy collapses. I fumble with my wand for light since Pansy took her wand with her. “ _Lumos_ , oh fuck, Malfoy.” 

I kneel next to his body on the floor as he coughs. “Potter. Don’t you- Don’t you dare tell anyone about what the Ministry has done. I expect to be hidden away until I’m healthy enough to show my face again. I read your letters. Thank- Take me to my mother,” he demands finally. I honestly don’t know how to respond to a vulnerable Malfoy, so I agree. 

“Alright, then. The Burrow is awhile away, though, so we best get going. Here, _Aguamenti_ ,” and he tips his head back to drink. I help him stand up and hold him up as we walk towards the door. Pansy, who definitely was eavesdropping, opened it right away. After magically returning the key, she lets us in under the Cloak. We have to brace Malfoy on either side and slowly make our way to the lift. 

Looking back, it would have been exhaustion that made us forget, but we opened the lift and stepped inside. Of course, the Aurors were immediately suspicious of seeing no one near the lift. We hear whispers and then footsteps. 

“Harry. Harry, can you carry Draco on your back? We’re going to need to run for it. They’ll check the cells soon enough. A quick spell and they'll be able to locate us, Invisibility Cloak or not,” Pansy whispers frantically. Grunting, I heave Malfoy onto my back, Pansy pushing his weakened body up. I frown at how light he is and at how heavy he should’ve been. Just from walking to the lift, his breathing is laboured and he’s sweating. 

In a mad rush with Malfoy nearly slipping off my back a few times, we make it out of the toilets. Pansy yells, “Hold on tight!” and we're squeezed into nothing. 

Amazingly, Pansy brings us to the front of the Burrow in only two jumps. This time Malfoy does fall off my back. I prop him up against my side as I sit down with a crunch on the autumn leaves. Pansy sends her wispy cat to Narcissa or Molly, I can't quite recall, saying "We're outside, we have him." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I dedicate the majority of this chapter to Slytherin common room headcanons? Maybe.
> 
> Also! "Vos non sunt malum" roughly, and I repeat, ROUGHLY, translates to "I am not evil." I thought that was a sad (yet motivational) thing to add for the Slytherins to say every time they want to go to sleep, so I did. 
> 
> Another thing to add: I'm not quite sure what I'm writing here, so please forgive me for the mess. I'm not used to writing on AO3 at all and happen to write better on other platforms (which I cannot share for privacy reasons HAHA). 
> 
> Anyways, enjoy!


	3. (Draco) Mother's Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco learns about what his new home will be like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is so very late, but enjoy!

  * Draco’s POV (October 27, 1998)



For the second consecutive day, I wake up in an unfamiliar environment. Instead of smelling the same, like yesterday in the cell, it smells like glory and warmth and… my mother’s perfume. For the first time in months, I wake up without a single ache in my body. It’s a bloody wonder to be alive right now. The bedding I’m in is worn and soft and completely envelopes me. The bed sinks from my weight and creaks as I sit up.

At the sound, my  _ mother _ wakes and stands up from her seat across the room. She smothers me in a hug and I laugh. There’s no way that I can ever be sad and morose ever again. The smile on my face refuses to leave and nothing can take it away. I gladly return the hug, forgoing our rule of displaying affection at home only. After 171 days of isolation, I cannot get enough of being loved; I take all the murmured sweet nothings and soak them in. If I can find a Pensieve, I would certainly keep this memory for life. After a few minutes of “ _ Draco, my dear boy, I’ve missed you so very much,” _ I whisper back, “I’ve missed you too, Mother, but I saw you limping over and I heard you were unwell. Please don’t waste your energy.” I pause, unsure of what to say. 

“I have been resting plenty, Draco. It was mid-September when I was taken to the Muggle hospital. Of course, Harry wanted to inform you immediately, but I didn’t want you to worry,” Mother says softly. “ I helped Harry write that letter he sent you a few days ago.”

“Potter is Harry now?” I ask stupidly and much too hastily to mask my indecorous change of topic. Mother just laughs.

“He’s always been Harry, dear,” she replies, voice even softer now. Reaching into my shirt for the letters, I realise my clothes have been changed. As if reading my mind, as usual, Mother opens a drawer and pulls out the letters. I find the section of Potter’s letter that I’m looking for and point it out. 

“You’re both on first name terms?” I ask accusingly. We both know this isn’t just a matter of names. 

“He  _ did _ help me find a new home, Draco, and you learn to,” she pauses. “I suppose you learn how to  _ unlearn _ your beliefs and prejudices.”

She sees my eyebrow raised in confusion and continues. “Molly refused to speak to me for the first month, even with Harry’s word. She  _ had _ lost a child because of our side, so I can’t blame her. I can’t blame her for being cross with me, either, for I was taking up resources and barely being appreciative about it. I was too shaken and distressed at the time to try with her. After a bit, Harry and Hermione approached me and we took off from there. The Weasleys are quite a family. It’s lovely to have so many children, but I’m perfectly content to just be their loving aunt.

“And, Draco, your father might- He might get the Kiss at the end of the year. Some members of the Ministry are pushing for the death of any possible blood supremacists. I believe that’s much too far of a step, but I owled your father anyway and he refuses to publicly let down the Malfoy line,” she sighs, “I could accept Azkaban, but…” She trails off. Shaking her head, she holds my face in her hands.

Mother looks in my eyes and I hold my breath, waiting for the deep wisdom that comes with this. Instead, she attempts to wink and squeezes my cheek like old witches do. After a momentarily stunned silence, I burst out laughing and Mother belts out a laugh I’ve never heard from her. It’s absolutely amazing: to laugh; to laugh with someone else; to have this pure feeling of genuine joy. 

It’s been some time.

Of course, all good things must come to an end. I pry open my eyes to get the image of Mother  _ winking _ out of my mind and see Potter standing at the door. I stop laughing, staring solemnly at the reddening face of our great Saviour. Mother stops, startled, looking at me curiously before following my line of vision.

“Oh! Harry, hello. Draco is awake and well, as you can see. Thank you, Harry, really. I had something else to ask you, oh, right! Do you happen to know when Draco’s trial is? I’d like to take him to see Practical Magic soon,” she announces excitedly.

“Practical Magic…?” I ask before Potter can respond. I know, this is my second time indecorously diverting the topic, but my trial will only end up with horrible things. Mother would be sobbing and I’d be wasting away next to Father. Until the end of the year that is, then we’ll be gone.

“Ah, yes. I’ve been introduced to Muggle films! This one is a recent film and it’s absolutely ridiculous. I think you would enjoy it,” she says. Baffled at the woman sitting in front of me, I sit speechlessly and look at Potter for help. 

He coughs awkwardly, “Narcissa, the trial is, um, tomorrow. It’ll be private of course. We don’t know how much the Wizengamot knew about Mal- ah, Draco’s containment, so, um, yeah,” he finishes lamely, face still red. Tomorrow? How unexpectedly fast. Mother doesn’t seem surprised at all and smirks at him.

“It’s just Draco, dear. There’s no need for you to be flustered. Thank you for letting him know, Harry. We best be getting to supper before Molly smacks us for leaving Draco awake and underfed.”

“Supper already? I just woke up,” I say, surprised for the umpteenth time in the past three days. Potter waves his hand and the curtains open to show the evening sky, full of whirling autumn leaves. 

I snort and say, “It’s only been three days, Potter. Give me some time to bring my magic back up to par before showing off, please.” 

Tentatively, Potter's mouth turns up in a sheepish smile before becoming that familiar smirk. He beckons to us and starts walking out, calling over his shoulder, “You’d better hurry. There might be nothing left for you to eat if you keep at this pace, Malfoy.”

Mother laughs and I feel her magic brace me as we walk out; as we walk  _ towards _ the meal that was more ordinary but more fulfilling than anything I’ve ever eaten. 

The Weasleys have taken my Mother in, however slowly, and have taken care of her. There is nothing less I can do for her than embrace them and listen and…  _ unlearn. _

**Author's Note:**

> Help. What am I doing?


End file.
